


there is love in our bodies and it holds us together

by AndreaLyn



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Developing Friendships, Isobel Evans Appreciation Week, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25709659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: It's finally happened - Michael proposed to Alex and there's a wedding on the horizon. Isobel offers her planning talents and in the process of putting together a wedding for the men, she and Alex develop a friendship that leaves Isobel with someone closer to a brother than a friend.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 46
Kudos: 203
Collections: Isobel Evans Appreciation Week 2020





	there is love in our bodies and it holds us together

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 3 of Isobel Evans Week - Relationships | Dynamics, being Isobel and Alex here. I've been wanting to write a piece about them developing their friendship since the end of last season, and am grateful that this prompt helped give me a second chance on an idea I abandoned.

“I can’t believe it actually happened.”

Alex doesn’t look impressed by Isobel’s disbelief, carefully walking behind her to make sure that she gets home safe, seeing as she’s had one too many glasses of champagne. “You know that starts sounding like an insult after the fifth time,” he says calmly. 

It’s not, though! She needs him to understand it’s not.

“Alex.” Isobel drapes her arms around him, her heels dangling from her fingers and clattering up against his neck. “Alex, you don’t understand. You’re _getting married_.” He waits for Isobel to adjust on her tiptoes, collapsing into his waiting arms (which are so nice and strong) and she gives him a soppy, drunken smile. “You’re gonna be a husband. I can’t believe it finally happened.”

“Which part?” he challenges, wrapping his arm around her waist to steady her.

“That Michael asked. Did Michael ask?” she demands, realizing they didn’t tell the story of who proposed to who. “I don’t care. You’re _getting married_ ,” she tells him again, cupping his cheeks until he looks more like a fish. Like this, she fixes her intense stare on him as a brilliant idea hits her. “I’m gonna be your wedding planner.”

“Iz,” Alex protests. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I am!” It doesn’t matter that she hasn’t planned anything in three years, not since the Noah debacle. “I’m going to plan the _perfect_ wedding you both deserve.” It feels like something she needs to do. It’s been so long since she’s really felt like herself, and maybe doing this for Alex and Michael will bring her closer to that person she used to be.

Maybe she needs to do this to learn if that person was ever real. 

“You okay out there?”

Isobel turns to look at Michael, who’s sitting in the driver’s seat of the Chevy, still running. He’s sober, because he’s driving Alex home, and it’s just one more sign about how much he’s changed in the years to be _good_ for someone. The truth that they don’t talk about is that Michael is _always_ sober these days, apart from acetone when his powers overwhelm him, because being clean means he’s the best version of himself.

“We’re fine,” Alex calls back to him, wrapping his arm around Isobel’s shoulders to gently guide her along. “Isobel, you don’t have to plan our wedding. I think we were just going to the courthouse to get some papers signed.”

He’s smiling, but it’s not in his eyes.

“You don’t want that.”

“I thought you didn’t go into people’s heads unprompted,” Alex replies calmly, not letting go.

She doesn’t have to. “You say Michael’s a bad liar, but you have tells too,” she mumbles, hiccupping when the alcohol makes a valiant effort to come back around. She suppresses it, bubbly champagne subsiding, and when she gets to her doorstep, she balances a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “The little frown, the way you’re looking sad.” She taps the tip of his nose three times with her index finger. “Alex Manes wants a wedding, wants a real wedding, why?”

He bends down to lift the mat, finding her spare key (which Michael must have told him about), and when it’s in the lock, he finally speaks.

“Because Alex Manes never thought he’d get one.”

Isobel smiles, in a daze, realizing exactly why it is that Alex wants this. “It’d be a ‘fuck you’ to Roswell.”

“The only thing better would be doing it over dear old Dad’s grave,” he spits out. “Michael doesn’t want a big fuss, though, and I’m fine with that. I’m happy so long as I get married.”

Isobel hums, clearly not buying that.

“Isobel!”

“Noah’s money has been invested well and it’s been earning plenty of interest. You know what I want to spend it on? I want to spend a lot of it on a lavish wedding for my brother and his man, because Noah was a big reason you two had to wait this long.” She’s rambling and the room is spinning once Alex unlocks her front door and gets her access into the living area.

Too much champagne (and tequila, and vodka, and gin, and, and, and). 

Isobel throws her arms forward and collapses, face-first, on her cozy couch, yanking the blanket off the back to wrap herself up in it like the soppy drunken burrito she is. “Alex,” she pleads, sulking, “Alex, let me plan your wedding. Let me plan it and pay for it. I won’t do anything you don’t want to do and you _know_ Michael will let you do anything you want.”

Alex perches on the edge of the couch, staring at her warily. 

“We’re not exactly best friends, Isobel.” It’s a soft confession in the dark, but he’s not wrong. They probably should be closer, but Michael has spent the last few years making up for lost time and it means that any chance Michael gets, he tends to keep Alex to himself. The last six months have been different, but it’s always them in a group. 

She and Alex orbit one another, planets performing a cosmic dance in harmony, but they never collide.

Maybe it’s time.

“You’re about to be family. I want to be your friend.”

“You’re drunk,” Alex accuses, softly huffing out a laugh as he bats back the half-full bottle of acetone that Isobel’s drummed up from beneath the couch cushion.

She is.

“It doesn’t change what I want, and what you want.”

The insistent honk of Michael’s truck goes off three times, which is a warning that he’s coming inside if Alex doesn’t surface soon. Isobel fumbles so she can grab Alex before he can venture too far away, fixing him with a determined and steely gaze. 

“You want it.”

“What I want doesn’t…” Alex stops, almost like he’s caught himself saying something he’s not supposed to. She’s the drunk one, but Alex is blinking like he’s been shocked, scowling like he’s just shot back an ill-advised glass of sourpuss. “Fuck,” he lets out a huff. “You’re right. It does matter.” 

“I get to plan your wedding?” 

“Contingent on Michael’s agreeing.”

She’s gleeful, clapping her hands with victory as she collapses back on the couch. There’s absolutely no way that Michael isn’t going to give Alex everything he wants, and if Alex wants a planned wedding, then she knows he’s going to get one. 

“Alex,” Isobel warns him. “Alex, you should go. It’s dangerous here.” Alex looks alarmed, but she continues swiftly, “The room is spinning so fast and if you’re not careful, I’m gonna keep you here, away from your fiance!” 

“Isobel Evans!” Michael’s voice comes booming from outside. “Let my man go!” 

“You’re his man,” Isobel teases, poking at his nose affectionately. “Go get him, man.”

Alex shakes his head at her and the warmth of the blanket he puts on her settles her, grounds her, and the thought of planning something for the first time in years makes her so excited she wants to get started right away.

As soon as the world stops spinning, she’s getting right on that.

“I’m locking the door, Iz,” Alex calls once he’s at the threshold. “Michael, stand down, I’m coming!” he shouts. “Sleep well, okay?” 

“I will,” she mumbles drowsily. “Now that I get to plan your wedding.” 

If Alex responds, she never hears it. Tugging on the blanket, Isobel surrounds herself with the steady warmth of the protective layer of the fuzzy material, protected by thoughts of being productive and helpful in a way she hasn’t been to either Alex or Michael.

She’s going to plan their wedding.

Smiling to herself, she falls into the nothingness of a booze-soaked sleep, a blank slate of empty dreams looming before her of _possibility_ instead of nightmares about what used to be.

* * *

The next morning, Isobel wakes up to an alert on her phone -- a text from Alex.

_michael and I discussed it. you’re on, wedding planner._

She’d be a lot more excited, but he’d texted her at seven in the morning. Grimacing, Isobel slams the phone back on the coffee table. “Stupid romantic sober assholes,” she mutters, even though it is probably sweet that Alex stays sober when Michael is around out of solidarity. She falls asleep again and when she wakes up at noon, she resembles a person with a large assist from coffee.

She’s still wearing a pair of shorts and a loose long-sleeved jersey top atop her bunny slippers, her hair knotted in a messy bun beneath a headband, and she’s yawning every minute, but it doesn’t matter. Compared to the liquor-scented blob she’d been earlier, this is progress. 

Awake, she remembers her mission:

_Get Michael and Alex married in the best possible way._

Within a few hours, she’s put herself together and started a new project board in the main room. Poster boards, string, pictures, and more are sourced, and magazines begin a mountainous pile on her coffee table. She’s ordered necessary supplies online and has made sure she has promises from all their friends that their help will be given if Isobel calls on them.

Within days, she also has a potential venue.

She tells Alex to meet her there, because she’s a busy woman now that she has a wedding to plan for (trust those idiots to want to get married within three months, but she likes a challenge). Isobel is in the midst of texting Michael pictures when she hears Alex’s voice from behind her.

“You can’t be serious about this place.” 

Isobel turns to see Alex approaching carefully, his gaze checking the ground as he walks. Shit, Isobel’s forgotten about the prosthetic. They’ll need to even out the land before this place becomes a true wedding venue. _If_ it becomes one, but she has a feeling that she’s going to have one happy customer soon, even if he doesn’t sound bowled over by her skill in finding the _perfect_ location.

“Hello Alexander,” Isobel greets teasingly, calm and cool. She leans in to kiss his cheek, drawing back to wrap her arm around his waist, staring at the beautiful barn looming above them.

Maybe he can’t see it, but she can. 

It’ll be beautiful once they open up the doors and string some lights. They’ll be able to put chairs inside and do the ceremony and reception in the same place, and all for a steal.

“How does my ex-boyfriend feel about us getting married in his family’s barn?” Alex asks her, squinting at her in disbelief. “Did you even ask Forrest?”

“I’m glad you brought him up,” she says, deciding not to be insulted in Alex’s lack of faith. “He had some particularly delicious things to say about how you getting married in a barn that partially belongs to Wyatt will bring him joy until the day he dies. He’s also happy for you,” she adds, squeezing Alex’s hand. “...unless you don’t believe that?”

Alex gives a quiet noise that she can’t read.

“What?” she challenges.

“Is it weird to think that he shouldn’t be okay with this?”

Isobel follows after Alex towards the barn, trying to get what he’s saying. “Are you telling me that you _want_ Forrest to stand up there and object to your wedding?”

“What? No!” He sounds pretty shocked for a man who’s basically saying exactly that. “Breakups are messy. They’re awful and painful. Why would my ex-boyfriend be willing to give me a place to marry the love of my life? It doesn’t make sense,” Alex says. 

_Oh_.

Isobel gets it, too. When he puts it like that, she’s beginning to understand a little more about Alex Manes. She hasn’t done much serious dating since Noah, but that forced divorce of Noah from his life (and subsequently, their marriage) had been so overwhelmingly powerful and harsh that, in the early days, she couldn’t even begin to imagine anything good coming from that relationship.

Time’s dulled some of those feelings.

He’s always going to be tainted in her memory, but that doesn’t change the things she learned about herself in their marriage. 

“You and Michael really spent a lot of time messing each other up, didn’t you?” 

Alex’s face falls and instantly, Isobel feels the kick of guilt.

“Alex, I just meant that you two had a lot to work through,” she hurries to explain. “Your breakups hurt so badly and I saw it in the way Michael was always torn up when one or the both of you walked away, and it’s not like I had better. My widowhood was heaven-sent,” she deadpans. 

“Yeah, the whole act of god thing was pretty clear.”

“Please,” Isobel groans, “do not let Max hear you say that.” She wanders closer to him and wraps her arms around his so she can walk onwards, trying to tug him back to the point of why they’re here. “You know, I’ve heard a rumor that some people like to be friends with their exes,” Isobel says thoughtfully, stepping inside the barn and inhaling deeply.

She gets it, immediately. 

Now she knows why Michael had suggested this place.

Alex follows her and she sees the instant he calms. It’s the moment the smell of petrichor hits his nostrils, a deep inhalation that puts him at ease. 

“Rain,” she says fondly. “The smell of our species.”

“This is where your mother and Michael’s took refuge,” Alex tells her what she already knows. “Where Walt danced with Nora, where your mother fell in love.” He turns towards the beams of the barn, staring up at the way the sunlight spills in from the upper windows. “Michael suggested this place, didn’t he?”

“It’s already been tested for dancing,” Isobel has to agree that it’s far from awful, “and Forrest cut me a great deal so long as he scores an invite.”

“He really is a good guy, isn’t he?” Alex says, his smile fond even if he still seems confused about why Forrest would go to these lengths for him. 

“He is,” Isobel agrees. “And you have excellent taste in men. Things don’t have to go badly. I’m figuring that one out, too. I think you did too, or you and Michael wouldn’t have gotten back together and you two definitely wouldn’t be getting married. It doesn’t always have to hurt. In fact, I think it speaks volumes about how much you’ve grown that it doesn’t and that you have such a good relationship with your ex.”

Alex steps away from her and paces the outskirts of the barn, like he’s trying to measure the space. His gaze falls to one of the nearby posts and he rubs his thumb over the notches there, tipping his head to the side as he stares at it fondly.

“Yes.”

“Yes?” Isobel prods.

“Yes, this is where Michael’s family took refuge once. It’s where I want to start our married life.” He taps his fingers a few more times on the post, stepping away to glance towards the light spilling in from the upper windows, inhaling deeply. 

She knows that for her, the smell of rain isn’t so noticeable. It’s _her_ (despite how many years she’s spent putting on perfumes to cover it up), but something about it seems to settle Alex. He doesn’t seem too worried anymore about what Forrest might think. Maybe, one day, she’ll have an ex that she stays friendly with. 

She’s not putting her romantic life to bed yet, so she’s got plenty of time to make that happen.

Right now, she’s feeling extremely smug.

“That’s the venue, then,” Isobel says. “It’s going to look amazing, Alex.”

He looks young and carefree, easy and open. “I think you’re right. Thanks, Iz. Not just for talking to Michael and securing this place, but letting me talk it out. I think maybe you’re one of the few people outside Michael who understands what it’s like to have love and pain tangled together.”

“Part of the wedding planner duties.” Her smile is only strained because Alex got to have the love part of that tangled knot.

With Noah, it had only ended in pain, the love buried so deep beneath the knots that she’d intentionally buried it beneath. 

“Now, next step,” she says. “Suits.”

* * *

She’s not surprised when Michael doesn’t show up for the suit fitting, but she is a little disappointed. 

Isobel drops her magazine when Alex crosses the threshold, already looking apologetic. He’s also come carrying a present, handing out a portfolio to her. “What is this?” she asks suspiciously as she takes it, opening it up to see magazine clippings on old pages that are worn on the edges. There are kilts, suits, and rainbow pins adorning each outfit, with little scribbled notes in the corner.

There is also the tiniest little heart with the initials A.M. and M.G. inside of it.

Isobel raises a brow at Alex, wondering what old treasure she’s just been handed. “I was sixteen and stupid,” he protests. “Michael suggested I bring it, or you’d stick me in, and I quote: Something that a sad hipster would find himself in at his soda emporium retirement party.”

“It would be a very handsome hipster,” she protests, smoothing one of the wrinkled magazine pages that’s seen better days.

“Besides, it’s high school fantasies,” Alex says dismissively. “You know what it’s like.”

Her fingers catch on the edge of the magazine clipping, staring down at it. She feels frozen, but not on the edge of the darkness the way she used to before she blacked out. It’s an echo of it, though. It’s a reminder. 

“I don’t,” Isobel admits quietly. “Actually.”

When she looks up, Alex’s eyes are wide, like it’s only just occurred to him, too. “Shit,” he ekes out. “I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s fine,” she rushes to try and move the subject on.

The problem is that Alex isn’t as willing to do the same. 

“It’s not fine,” he says calmly, taking the book of fabric swatches and setting it beside him with his clippings, gesturing for her to sit with him. 

Isobel gives him a warning look, because if this turns into some kind of very special episode, she’s bailing and he can wear whatever he wants. 

“You know, when I was dating Forrest, he talked a lot about how queer kids sort of have this second adolescence,” Alex says, shifting so he’s able to look at her, though he doesn’t reach for her hand to try to embrace her tightly. For that, he’s still one of her favorite friends for not forcing bonding cuddle time. “I get it. I definitely explored my interests a lot more, tried to be the kid that I wanted to be in high school.”

“Oh, please, that doesn’t count. You were never shy about who you were,” Isobel protests. “You were the Emo Punk Rock King of Roswell High.”

“And I was still hiding,” he admits. “My fashion might have screamed that I wasn’t a conformist, but I was scared to be out. Every time rumors about me circulated, I never came out. I never stood up on a table and proudly accepted it. I let them exist, let people whisper, and when I had to, I dealt with them, but never in front of everyone. My second adolescence was a little fashion, and a lot of truth about being open with this town because I might not owe them anything, but I also don’t owe them the fake version of myself.”

He looks at her pointedly, like Alex intends for her to take that to heart.

“I’m figuring it out,” Isobel finally says, even if it feels like it took a huge magnitude of effort to say it. “I don’t…” She grinds her teeth together, digging her nails into her palm. “I don’t know who I am yet, Alex. Noah slithered in and took over, he made friends with people that _he_ chose, he aligned my life to suit his purposes, and I’m still figuring me out now that I’ve excised him out of my life and my heart.”

“There’s no timer, Iz,” Alex promises, gently taking the folder from her hands so he can take hold of them. She relents, letting him hold on like he’s the lifeline she plans to cling to -- evidence that she can crawl out the other side of this. “No one’s gonna get mad at you for not knowing who you are yet.”

“I will,” she fights that notion. “I should know. We’re almost thirty-one. You’re getting married to my disaster brother. I’m divorced or widowed or whatever you want to call it,” she says, “but really, it never should have happened at all. Noah loved a fake version of me. I don’t even know who the real me is.”

Alex shifts to pull her in close, resting Isobel’s cheek to his leather jacket. She can already see some of her foundation against it, but he doesn’t seem to care. 

Neither does she, which is somewhat alarming.

Has Alex Manes made her go soft?

“I know a little bit about Isobel Evans.”

“You don’t,” she protests.

“I know that she loves her family,” Alex counters, pushing her braid off her shoulder, resting his chin on top of her hair. “So much so that she’s planning our wedding because you want both Michael and me to have the best day. I know that you’re strong and stubborn and steel-willed. I know that you’re learning how to do the right thing. I know that you’re opening yourself up again, even for love. I know that you’re learning scary new things about yourself.”

Okay, fine.

So he knows a thing or two about her. 

What he doesn’t know (and she doesn’t want to let slip) is how close she is to crying right now for how much blind faith he has in her, based on nothing more than his relationship with Michael and a tentative friendship that they’ve only recently started to make stronger.

“You know what else Isobel wants?” she says, tapping his knee as she cringes at the whole ‘referring to herself in third person’. “She likes it when you try on fancy suits so you can look like a model walking down that aisle. I get to post pictures on my influencer account, that’s part of the deal.”

Alex gives her a fond smile.

“Deal,” Alex vows, shaking on it.

Little does he know that Isobel intends to put him through a whole photoshoot to make him work for her newly-restarting events business, but she doubts he’ll have any protests.

It’s a part of figuring herself out and doing the things she used to. 

It’s learning whether she actually enjoys this, or whether it’s something she only thought she did because it was expected of her. It won’t be instantaneous, but Isobel’s beginning to see that even if she takes a while to figure it out, she’ll have people in her corner while she does.

* * *

The next step, now that the wedding invitations have officially gone out (in a very elegant and beautiful font) is to start locking down the finer details. She’s procured a band and a caterer (both earning Michael and Alex’s approval), and today is the florist. 

Alex is waiting outside the shop, but no Michael in sight.

“Does my brother hate me?”

“Trust me, you do not want him here for this,” Alex insists. “I went to pick him up at the junkyard and he reeked of some solvent he got on him. Sanders is spraying him down with chemicals and he has a strict order not to come home until he smells like rain again. I suggested a tomato bath, like he got skunked, but Sanders didn’t seem amused.”

It’s his loss, because Isobel’s enjoying the mental image of Michael being dunked in a bath of it. 

“Did he at least send his opinions?”

“No baby’s breath,” Alex shares, squinting like he’s trying to remember. “Then, he said so long as you don’t intend to make him wear any flower crowns, avoid the ones our friends are allergic to and we’ll be fine. I have a list,” he adds quickly, patting his pocket.

He follows her into the store, where a table has been set up with options for them to review. 

The first few minutes go well. Isobel collects flowers together, tying them together with silky ribbons. Eventually, she notices that Alex hasn’t said anything in a while, staring at her. “What?” she asks, wondering if she’s got something on her face.

“Are you okay doing this for me?” 

She’s not entirely sure what he means, at first.

“The whole, the wedding thing,” he explains, gesturing to the bow she’s making with the ribbon. “Are you sure this doesn’t bring up bad memories for you?” 

It’s a testament to her ability to live in denial that it only hits her then that he means, _does this remind her of Noah in some way?_ Her fingers slide off the ribbon because she wants to make sure she gives the question an honest thought. This isn’t anything near the epic affair she’d had when she wed Noah, but the steps are the same.

“I had my mother behind me the whole time pushing me to be the beautiful bride I always wanted to be, growing up. Every time I had a doubt, she was there to encourage me,” she admits, giving him a wary look. “I hope I’m not doing that with you.”

“No, you’ve been surprisingly chill,” Alex admits, and his awkward laugh is probably because he just admitted that he’d expected Isobel to be a bridezilla about this. “That must have been nice, though,” he says wistfully. “Your Mom being there with you the whole time.”

She’s noticed that Mrs. Manes hasn’t been a part of Alex’s life, but she’s always felt like it’s not within her realm to ask why. He’s brought it up, though, so she sees no reason not to at least ask about her. 

“Do you think she’ll come to the wedding?”

“I think so,” Alex says, but he doesn’t sound so convinced. “Maybe. You know, it’s going to sound really bad, but I was always jealous of you and Michael.”

He’s right. It does sound bad.

“You were jealous that we had amnesia and it took us twenty years to remember our parents, having lost out on any chance to be raised by them? She gives him a pointed look, and then shakes her head. “Then again, knowing what I know about the Manes family, I take it back. Feel jealous all you want.”

“It was just clear how much your mothers loved you. They would have done absolutely anything in the world to keep you safe, no matter how much it hurt them.” 

Alex is spinning a few daisies as he sets them back down on the table, staring at the wildflowers like they’re calling out to him. 

“My mother left me. She left me behind to protect herself, and...and that’s her right,” Alex struggles to get out, sounding like a boy who’s only recently learned how to not place blame on his mother for her decisions. “She didn’t take me. She didn’t try and hide me. She didn’t even call in a tip to someone who would’ve listened about him. Even if she’d only suspected…”

Isobel reaches over to slide her hand over his arm, gently tugging him into a hug.

“And you know the worst part of this? The worst part is how desperately I still want Mom to be at the wedding,” Alex confesses roughly. “It’s why we sent the invitation and why I keep checking the website for her RSVP. I called her too, but the number was disconnected. I’m scared to keep looking because if she wanted to be there for me, she would be.”

Isobel lets him go, cupping his cheek. “You’re amazing, Alex and if your mother doesn’t know that, then she’s the one missing out and you have a family that you’re marrying into. We might not have our mothers around, but you should see Max’s mother hen impression. You won’t even know the difference.” 

Alex lets out a weak laugh and he gives her a bleary-eyed hopeful look. 

“You promise?”

“I’ll sic him on you the next time he goes crazy with worry, but you don’t get to put him back on us.” With Alex looking happier, Isobel turns to the flowers and tries to ignore the pit in her stomach as she imagines what kind of living mother could stay away.

Maybe she just doesn’t know. There’s every chance she has no idea that Jesse is out of the picture.

“I saw you looking at the wildflowers,” she says, leaning forward to pry them forward to add some roses and greenery. “Let’s put this together. You’re still going with navy blue and grey?” 

“I’ve been reliably told that it will make my bridesmaids look incredible. Well, with one last person to ask.”

He’s already managed to get Liz, Maria, and Kyle on board along with his brother.

“One of your other brothers?”

“Please,” Alex scoffs. “Greg looks good in everything. It’s you. I know you’re already on Michael’s side, but I was hoping that maybe you’d also be a bridesmaid for me, if only in spirit.” 

She hadn’t been expecting that. It’s stunned her past speaking, and she’s gaping at Alex like she’s trying to make sense of the ask. He’s right. She’s already standing up there for Michael, so she’s part of the party, but it means the world to her that Alex wants this from her. 

“I’d be honored,” she says, putting down the flowers in her hand before she crushes them from nerves. “Family’s gotta protect family, right?”

Alex makes a noise that sounds like he agrees, but it puts a thought in Isobel’s mind that lasts all afternoon. Even when they’re done with the bouquets and the boutonnieres, that thought is still percolating.

Family looks out for one another.

As Alex’s soon-to-be-family, there’s something that she can do to make his life better and it won’t cost a thing. 

Later that night, when Alex is safely tucked away with Michael, Isobel goes to the sheriff’s office to get the number for Mindy Manes. Michelle Valenti doesn’t give it easy, though, eyeing her suspiciously.

“Why do you need this?”

“Because I’m Alex’s wedding planner,” is Isobel’s equally steely reply, not willing to get pushed around on this. Michelle squints at her, but hands over the slip of paper and Isobel is able to leave knowing that she got her way. 

She calls from her car three times.

The number isn’t disconnected, but no one picks up. 

On the third try, she leaves a message.

“Mrs. Manes. I don’t think you know me, but I think you know some of my family. My name is Isobel Evans and some of my family lived on the same reservation that you did, for a lot of years. My brother is getting married to your son, and I’m planning the wedding with Alex. I know it’s not my right to plead or beg, but Alex has been trying to get a hold of you and I think he’s scared to keep trying. He wants you at this wedding and so do I. It would mean the world to me to be able to see Alex happy.” 

She pauses, not sure how far she should go, but knowing she doesn’t want to leave any regrets on the table.

“I know I would give anything to have my mother be there for me, and he’s your baby,” she says. “I’ll give you the date and the address, along with my email and phone number. Please come. Alex wants you there.”

He doesn’t need her, but that shouldn’t matter. 

Just because you’ve learned to live without your mother, doesn’t mean that you should if she’s still there, just outside of reach.

* * *

“You’re here!” 

The sunny proclamation from the back of the cake shop is the bright voice of the owner, who Isobel had called earlier to make sure they could come in for the appointment. It’s a new shop to the main strip of Roswell with a baker who came in from Albuquerque for cheap real estate. 

Isobel guides Alex inside, unsure how to deal with that much enthusiasm.

Her default instinct is to ice it out, but this is a vendor that she needs to develop a working relationship with, so she’s going to be pretty and polite. “We are,” she agrees. 

The woman is barely taller than 5’2 and her bright blonde hair is tied up in a top knot as she rushes around the shop, gesturing to the front counter where there are two chairs waiting. “Come in! Come in, I’m so excited, I also brought out some cake toppers,” she says excitedly, setting down a few trays of cake slices.

Isobel lifts up a little plastic bride and groom, twirling it as she hides her smile behind it.

“I mean, I know Michael likes to talk about how he’s got good legs, but I’m not planning to have him in a white dress,” she assures Alex, spinning on the stool to look at the shop owner. “I’m not the bride.”

“Oh! Oh, but you called and, I thought…”

“I am the esteemed wedding planner,” Isobel puts her out of her misery. “My brother is the other groom and he’s busy working.”

“Right. Yes.” The girl looks flushed. “I’ll just go get the last of the cake flavors. They’re cooling in the back.”

She’s gone in a flash, clearly embarrassed to have made a mistake the way she had. 

“Does that bother you?” Isobel asks curiously once the swinging door has closed. She gets the feeling that the owner will be gone a while, if only to get her embarrassment under control.

“What? That she thought we were dating? I could do way worse.”

“No, I mean, the whole heteronormative bullshit,” Isobel parrots one of Michael’s party lines, though she has to omit the ‘human’ word in there. She’s so new to this that she’s still trying to figure it out. Being mistaken for Alex’s girlfriend isn’t as harrowing and awful as being mistaken for Michael’s, but she’s still navigating these new muddy waters. “But on the other hand, doesn’t it get exhausting?”

“Which part?”

“Constantly having to come out,” she says. “ _Because_ people just assume we’re all straight. You have to come out all the time to strangers,” she says, gesturing towards the kitchen.

It’s not just here, though.

It’s Uber drivers, it’s people at the bars, it’s all these people who don’t need to know that part of yourself, but always assume the wrong thing. 

“I … don’t, really,” Alex stumbles, “Come out to strangers if I don’t have to. I know that when I was with Forrest, I was opening up a lot more, but it’s not their business any more than I owed them to tell them what my favorite color is, or how I like my coffee. Until it’s relevant, I don’t need to go out there screaming it, but that’s me,” he says. “I’m more reserved about that thing and at first, it was out of necessity and survival. Now, it’s by choice.”

Isobel gives a quiet hum as she reaches for a fork, wondering if she cares that much to let everyone know who she is. 

People make assumptions about her all the time. After all, it’s not like she goes around correcting them about her humanity. 

She’s not sure why it bugs her now. It’s usually worse when she’s with Michael, because the familial aspect of it makes her want to gag. With Alex, though, and any other man, Isobel thinks she’s guilty of it herself. When she sees men and women together, barring striking resemblance, she defaults to couples.

“If you don’t want to tell people, you don’t have to,” is Alex’s final word on the matter.

The owner returns with trays laden down with cakes, clearly calmer than she was only a few moments ago. “Cakes,” she says brightly. “For the esteemed wedding planner and the groom.” She’s being so careful about her words that Isobel shouldn’t feel the need to use her as training wheels.

Still, that’s not going to stop her.

“I love cake,” Isobel says, swiping two fingers through the frosting to suck it off, an adaptation of her signature move. She keeps her eyes on the owner, deliberately locking her gaze with her and not blinking. “I’m glad I’m pansexual,” she says, offhand to Alex, “no long nails to get frosting stuck under. We wouldn’t want that, people would find it unhygienic.”

The owner squeaks and ducks down to find forks, her cheeks red again.

Alex is trying his best not to laugh, but he’s losing his battle. “You’re wicked,” he informs her. 

“I’m deciding to be honest about who I am,” Isobel says sunnily, her chin high with pride. They’re not being kicked out, they’re still being served, and maybe she isn’t going to want to do this all the time, but she thinks she could get used to being _Isobel_ and not whatever people expect of her. 

Besides, it’s kind of fun to set people off-guard like that. She thinks she could practically make it a hobby.

* * *

This part of the wedding planning process, Michael can’t avoid, though Isobel finds that she’s almost disappointed. She’s been enjoying her one-on-one time with Alex. 

Alex arrives at the dance studio in a pair of yoga pants and a tank top that shows off some very impressive biceps. Isobel approaches, but before she reaches out to squeeze them, she gives him a cautious look. “Can I…?”

Boundaries. She’s learning them. Slowly, but surely, she’s getting there.

“Go on,” Alex allows, and Isobel dives right in.

Whistling with approval, she moves behind him to see the shoulders. “You know, objectively you look great, but if you mess up your suit fitting, I am going to be pissed off,” she says, running her fingers over it. “What changed?”

“Less time on the prosthetic at home,” Alex admits. “Michael put together a routine with Kyle for me to make sure that I’m not overbalancing on one side, which means getting my upper arm strength in shape. I’m glad it has the side-benefit of earning the Isobel Evans stamp of approval.”

“It does,” she marvels. “What’s not earning my approval is how late Michael is.”

Alex shakes his head as he sits down on a stage block, reading from his phone. “I quote, ‘did you know workout pants cost this much money? I don’t want to spend fifty dollars on these even if Maria says my ass looks fabulous.’”

Isobel crosses her arms over her chest. “He is not coming to dance rehearsals for your first dance in his hole-ridden jeans.”

“Maria’s on it,” Alex vows. 

Isobel paces in the rehearsal area, looking at herself in the mirrors. She’s used to this sort of set-up at her gym, but she hasn’t been in ages. Her need to learn to defend herself had faded away when she strengthened her powers, her alien defense mechanisms stronger than the human ones. Still, there’s a little guilt that she hasn’t kept it up. 

“Can you dance?” she asks him, which she probably should have asked before.

“What, on my one leg?” is Alex’s dark sarcastic retort.

Isobel rolls her eyes. “Down, boy. I meant, do you know how to lead and follow. We booked this without getting into the details.” 

“I’m adequate,” Alex says, after a long pause. “I’ve been told Michael is more the disastrous kind of dancer and I should be happy I only have the one leg left?”

“He would say that,” Isobel snorts, shaking her head in disbelief. “I guess you’re leading, then,” she decides for them, even though that’s not going to stop Michael’s coordination problems.

Given that she expects him to be punch-drunk on love and happiness at the wedding, she’s not counting on him to suddenly pick up any skills to knock her off her feet. 

She opens her mouth to ask what style he wants to try when chaos strikes at the entrance.

“I’m here!” Michael practically knocks the door off the hinges as he bursts in, holding a bag aloft. “I’m here, I have pants that won’t shred, and a receipt because Maria says that I should give it to you to claim on your taxes or some shit … I don’t know,” he says dismissively. “I’m gonna change so we can do this.”

Alex ducks his head down, but he doesn’t bother to hide his smile. Isobel can see the way Michael soaks it up, like a flower earning rain after a drought. Michael’s beeline for the changerooms means there isn’t much time for pleasantries, but it’s just long enough that she’s been given a front seat, again, to the show that is Michael and Alex’s stupid cosmic love for one another. 

Michael comes back out and Isobel sics him on Alex, biting back her thoughts. The instructor steps in and guides them in the waltz, which lets Isobel focus on other important wedding details on her phone.

Every so often, she glances up at the instructor’s stern, ‘Not like this, Michael! Like _this_ ,’ followed by a ‘very good, Alex’ in her lilting Russian accent. 

By the time they get to the halfway point of their hour, the instructor seems pleased and confident that they won’t make complete fools of themselves when they dance at their wedding. That’s Isobel’s money well-spent then. 

Alex limps his way back to the bench, with Michael kissing his cheek and helping to get him settled before he whispers that he’ll be back soon. He only gets two steps away before he ducks back for another kiss, like he couldn’t possibly go that long without his touch, waving as he vanishes back into the changerooms to get some water.

“You make my brother really happy,” Isobel says, once Michael is finally out of sight and his bitching about sweating is out of earshot (even though he’s grinning the whole time as he complains). “I was jealous of that for a while.”

“What?” Alex is patting his face down with a towel.

“When you two got back together, for real, this last time,” she says, staring out the windows of the dance studio so she doesn’t have to look at Alex. “You spent so long fighting to get together. You both loved each other so much, but it didn’t work, and I thought, at least Michael’s like me. At least Michael keeps fighting and struggling, at least he hasn’t figured out his happy ending, so I don’t have to figure out mine.”

“You’re not behind, Iz,” Alex says gently. “You know that.”

She does. They’ve even talked about this. 

They haven’t talked about her envy.

“I want my own Alex Manes,” she tells him, stubborn and selfish and thinking that she deserves it. “Obviously not you, who is very taken, but I want one.”

“If I could find you one, I would. I could start by setting you up with my friends,” he offers. “Because, honestly, Isobel, you’re great and I’m so glad you’re gonna be my sister,” Alex says. “I’ve always wanted one, and now I get one for life. My very own Isobel Evans.”

The bright bubbling acceptance of that makes her light up. Sure, Liz has become a sister to her because Max has been stupid about her for ages, but she’d never really thought about having another brother or how happy she is for it. 

Hell, at this rate, Alex might even be her _favorite_ brother at this rate. 

Even though she’s really not a hugging person, she thinks she needs one right now. That’s why she pulls him in, ignoring that he’s still sweaty from dancing, because he’s going to be her brother, and it’s the best thing she’s thought of all day. 

“Okay, hands off my man, I’m ready for round two,” Michael announces, spreading his arms out like he’s trying to announce himself in the loudest, most over-the-top way possible. “Let’s get dancing so I can find out how badly I can damage a man’s prosthetic by stepping on it.” 

He winks at Isobel as he steps in to swoop Alex into his arms, spinning them and holding onto him the whole time. Alex laughs brightly and Isobel feels the rush of powers assisting to keep Alex steady and balanced.

They’re both so stupid and happy and it makes Isobel hurt a little, but she buries that down beneath her joy for them. 

Leaning over, she presses play on the speakers so the studio space fills with the sounds of Bright Eyes and the two of them start a very intimate, very slow, very personal dance as they waltz around the room, staring at each other like the rest of the world has fallen away.

And maybe it has, for them.

That’s what matters here. It’s that they made it here. They found each other.

And in a week’s time, it’ll be forever.

* * *

The wedding goes off without a hitch.

Well, there’s one very important hitch. Isobel is privately _triumphant_ when she catches multiple people dabbing at their cheeks when Sanders walks Michael down the aisle, gripping Michael’s shoulder and shaking him as he insists that Michael ‘take care of his family’ before nodding to Alex. 

The vows are something else, too. 

With Mindy sitting in the front row, Alex’s hands are shaking when he hands Isobel the speech he’d asked for. Given her unique role as bridesmaid to both Alex and Michael, she goes where she’s needed, and right now, Alex needs the support.

“Before we get to the personal vows, I wanted to add something first,” Alex says, staring at his mother, like he’s anxious she’s going to stand up and object. “It’s something that the tribal elders would give as words of wisdom, a kind of wedding blessing. They mean a lot to me, but even more now that I get to share them with Michael.”

He gives Isobel a nod, allowing her to step up in front of the officiant. 

“Alex and Michael,” she starts, and lifts the microphone to be able to have everyone hear the words. “Now you have lit a fire and that fire should not go out. The two of you now have a fire that represents love, understanding and a philosophy of life. It will give you heat, food, warmth, and happiness.”

She turns to give Alex a warm smile, thinking of their conversations and knowing how carefully he’ll tend to the fire of their love to ensure it never goes out. 

“This new fire represents a new beginning – a new life and a new family. The fire should keep burning; you should stay together. You have lit the fire for life, until old age separates you.”

It’s really beautiful and Isobel sets the cards down so she can hand it back to the officiant, who pronounces them married, and gives them permission to kiss. The two of them have been practically straining to do that from the moment they started the vows, and it’s every bit as beautiful as Isobel had imagined.

All her well-laid plans have come to this -- a show-stopping kiss in the starry-lights of the barn. 

They kiss. Then they kiss some more.

The officiant has to clear his throat and Isobel leans in to elbow Michael, which is when they finally ease back, giving the audience a sheepish look. 

Then again, what did they expect? The people here know Alex and Michael. Ever since they got back together for good, they haven’t exactly been subtle. Michael takes hold of Alex’s hand, pumping it above their heads victoriously as he heads down the aisle, showing off his fully-healed hand with no shame.

The reminder to be hopeless and angry is gone, replaced by Alex’s wedding ring on his ring finger. Isobel sweeps the train of her navy blue bridesmaid dress to the side so she can follow them down the aisle to the reception area (which is in the same barn, just set up behind a curtain). 

“They did it,” Max comments to her, escorting her to her seat so she can quickly change shoes to start running around to set up the reception. 

“Took long enough,” she quips. She presses a kiss to his cheek, cleaning off the pink lipstick mark it leaves. Then, she’s off to get the food ready, the pictures arranged, and every last detail is made right.

This might be Alex and Michael’s big day, but she’s the planner behind it. It needs to be perfect.

It is, too. Nothing goes wrong over dinner, everyone is happy, and the drinks are flowing. The speeches are beautiful and make people cry, and when the music starts and the first song plays, she gives them a nudge onto the dance floor, knowing that after this, it’s not up to her to plan the rest of their lives.

That’s their job, but Isobel has the feeling they’ll do just fine. 

Watching them dance in the twinkling lights of the open barn, Isobel feels the pride of a job well done. This wedding would’ve happened without her, but it wouldn’t have been so memorable or looked half as nice. 

Tonight, she’ll make sure the photographer captures every last romantic kiss between the grooms. She’ll watch them cut the cake. They’ll be adorned with the flowers she had a hand in and find petals in their hair even as they abscond to their honeymoon.

Tomorrow, they set out on their own for their new life and that’s where Isobel’s influence stops. 

When they do, it’ll be her turn to figure out what her next steps are going to, and it’ll be with a new brother in her corner.


End file.
